WrapUp With A Twist
by Loafer
Summary: The conclusion of a murder case goes a little differently when one of the witnesses decides she has a few things to say about Shawn. Lassiet by the end. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: _**psych**_ isn't mine, and I don't want it. I just want Lassiter. Is that so wrong?

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: The conclusion of a murder case goes a little differently than expected when one of the witnesses decides she has a few things to say about Shawn. _[I have to admit, as much as I respect Shawn's abilities, I do love it when things don't go his way. Don't know where the idea came for this, and I think it could easily be a standalone. If it goes anywhere beyond this chapter, it fer __**sher**__ will be Lassiet.]_

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Shawn Spencer wrapped up his big reveal, pointing dramatically to Isabella's husband as the killer.

This stunned Isabella, threw the extended family (twenty-three of whom were in the room, along with half a dozen SBPD officers, Juliet, Chief Vick, Henry Spencer, Guster of course, and Lassiter) into an uproar, and left Lassiter with his usual sense of unease.

Spencer was usually right—_usually_, once he'd settled on the third or fourth this-is-absolutely-the-guy culprit—but every now and then he was wrong, and it was never in a quiet place with just a few witnesses. No, it was always like this: a throng. A throng vs. the SBPD.

_And where there's a throng, things will go wrong._

Next to him, Juliet sighed. "Always has to be the drama king."

Lassiter glanced at her, surprised. She'd been making more comments like that lately, and it was taking an inordinate amount of self-control on his part to not flat-out ask her when she was going to give up on her boyfriend ever acting his age. It startled him sometimes to realize he was only seven years older than Spencer. Was _he_ that _old_? Was Spencer that childish? Hell, O'Hara seemed older than Spencer, and Spencer had five years on her.

He stepped forward into the emotional melee and handcuffed Raul, reading him his rights and then passing him off to McNab before taking another look at Spencer. "Done?"

Spencer shrugged. "Probably. Gus? Did I leave anything out?"

Guster shrugged too. "No, I think you hit the high points."

Spencer extended his arms to the room full of Isabella's absolute closest and now completely distraught family and said magnanimously, "It's been a pleasure reading you all. Sorry to disrupt your lives, but, then again, Raul started it. Ciao!" He headed for the door—his usual approach: stir the pot, let everyone _else_ deal with the cleanup—but came to a stop when Silviana stepped into his path.

Silviana was Isabella's older sister, and she had been quietly observing them all week long as the investigation wore on. Somewhere between 50 and eternal, she had large dark eyes; her long dark hair was coiled into a bun and she wore dangly silver earrings with a red lace shawl: it was all deliberate, Lassiter understood, to project an image. Their background check on her turned up several run-ins with the law regarding fortune-telling enterprises, but nothing had stuck.

"You," she said with quiet force to Spencer, "have been here with your police friends for days, making pronouncements. 'Reading' people, as you put it."

"That's what I do." He tilted his head back as if surprised she would even speak to him. After all, the case was finished. He was done. There was lunch to be acquired.

"I don't entirely understand the nature of your relationship with the police department," she went on.

Chief Vick interrupted. "Mr. Spencer is one of our consultants."

Silviana gave her a long look. "And yet... he seems to think he is in charge, and _you_ seem to... _let_ him be in charge."

Lassiter's own irritation was enhanced by the irritation now clearly being experienced by Karen Vick.

"His methods are unorthodox," the Chief finally said.

Spencer grinned. "Hear that? It's all good."

"It wasn't a compliment." Vick glared at him, and then said politely to Silviana, "He gets the job done and we make allowances for his often..."

"Insulting," Lassiter muttered.

"Juvenile," Henry Spencer muttered.

"Idiotic," Juliet whispered, and Lassiter was positive no one heard it but him.

"Dramatic," Vick interrupted with A Look to all of them. "_Dramatic_ behavior. Is there anything else?"

"Not for you," Silviana said, almost in a dismissive manner. "But for you," and she pointed to Spencer with one red-tipped fingernail, "I do have a request."

"Name it." He could afford to be magnanimous; he was the crime-solving hero, or so Lassiter imagined he thought of himself.

"Allow _me_ to read _you_."

_Oh, _this_ ought to be good._ Lassiter leaned against the edge of Isabella's desk, making himself comfortable. Juliet glanced at him and for a second he thought he was in trouble, but after a second she came to perch right beside him. _Interesting_.

Spencer obviously couldn't resist the temptation for more attention. He grinned at Silviana. "Bring it. But keep in mind, _my_ visions are special, honed, and highly detailed."

Silviana smiled. "You have a photographic memory."

"No, I don't," he said too quickly. "My gift is not... of the brain."

Lassiter bit back laughter. Silviana was amused, but he dared not look to see Juliet's reaction.

"That is," Spencer qualified, "it's not... physio... somatical." He glanced at Guster. "Is that what I mean?"

"No, Shawn. Can we go to lunch?"

"I mean it's not something a doctor could find if he dissected my brain," he tried again.

Silviana waved it off. "I understand what you're trying to say, although you're lying. Lying comes very easily to you, doesn't it?"

"So you say." Spencer lifted one hand to his temple. "Maybe it's _you_ who does the lying."

"Said the liar," she said mockingly. "It only takes a short time observing you to see how things are in your life."

Now he seemed annoyed. "You don't know anything about my life."

"Yet you came in here a week ago, spent perhaps three minutes speaking to each member of my family, and presume to know all about us?"

"Yeah, but you're stereotypes!" he retorted. "You're the classic big Italian clan, half-gypsy, half-mob, half-spaghetti-makers and half-spaghetti-eaters, and—" he stopped talking suddenly as he realized at least twenty-three people were glaring at him (even Raul, who was still in the room, the officers having stopped the removal once the sideshow started), and half the SBPD present was clearly wishing he'd shut up. "...and of course I would think that _only_ if I weren't a highly evolved and worldly person capable of seeing all the nuances and flavors which make up such a diverse group of truly unique individuals."

Silviana's eyebrows went up. "As I said, lying comes easily. Shame you're not better at it." She circled round him slowly, looking him over from head to toe. "Shame you're not a better dresser, too, but I suppose there _is_ a place for sloth in society."

Beside him, Juliet definitely, no mistake, made a muffled sound of amusement. Lassiter couldn't help but stare at her in wonder.

"It's _casual_. And casual is the only look to have," Spencer insisted. "It goes with everything."

Henry Spencer tugged at his tie. Guster smoothed his pristine shirt. Silviana fluffed her shawl discreetly.

Spencer, Lassiter thought, just looked scruffy.

"It _especially_ goes with laziness," Silviana purred.

_Ohhhhhh... really, this was a _hell_ of a lot more fun than the usual wrap-up and arrest._

"Are you done yet? Because I can get personal insults from that guy," Spencer said, pointing at Lassiter.

Silviana cast her dark gaze his way, but it was merely curious. "We'll come back to him later if necessary. Right now we're talking about you."

"Well, hurry it up. Gus gets weepy if he doesn't eat regularly."

She reached out and poked his stomach lightly. "Then it appears _you_ never get weepy. Do you spend the money meant for shaving and laundering on food?"

_Uh-oh, _Lassiter thought._ Getting mean now_.

She changed tack before Spencer could get out a protest. "You are a narcissist who has no healthy relationships. Not even with food."

"What? Now I know you're on crack," he shot back. "That chocolate magic-head over there has been my best friend for thirty years, my father... speaks to me... most of the time, and I have the love of a wonderful woman, _much_ cooler than you. Those all sound like relationships to me, sister!"

"I said _healthy_ relationships." She glanced at Guster. "I don't know what issues your friend has which cause him to submit himself to your whimsical mistreatments, but it's probably not too late for basic therapy. Your father, well, he is your father. As for the wonderful woman, perhaps you only have this relationship because she _is_ wonderful, and not because you deserve her. You know what they say," she added with a feline smile. "She will always be wonderful, but you may not always be her boyfriend."

Spencer couldn't help but look toward Juliet, and Lassiter was astonished that rather than defend Spencer (or give Lassiter a preemptive 'shut up' glare), she only met his gaze impassively and waited for Silviana to continue.

It didn't seem that Silviana was surprised by the direction of Spencer's gaze, and Lassiter reminded himself she'd had a week to watch them all.

"I'm pretty sure that's not what they always say," Spencer huffed.

"Agree to disagree." Her tone was still so very mocking. Lassiter was fascinated. "The truth is, everyone in your life is just a bit player. You are forever the star. You crave the spotlight. You will do anything, belittle anyone, tell any lie, maintain any illusion—anything to ensure attention will come your way in the end. Yet I cannot deny that clearly you are intelligent and clearly you excel in your discoveries for the police." She nodded toward Vick. "I've read about him in the papers, and notice he usually fails to mention anyone in your department. One would think _he_ did all the work."

Guster chose _that_ point to defend him on. "You know reporters edit quotes. Shawn gives credit where it's due. He even mentioned me by my correct name in the article about our last case."

Silviana turned and studied him, almost sadly. "And after all these years you consider that a coup, instead of a _given_?"

Spencer said, "Wait a minute. There's nothing wrong with taking credit for a job well done." He pointed at Lassiter. "That guy lives for credit. I don't see you hassling _him_."

Lassiter fidgeted, feeling heat rising in his face, but the truth was he'd worked too hard too long to get where he was to not want credit for his achievements.

But again, Silviana had an answer for Spencer. "He may well take credit for his work, but I don't believe he's known to take credit for anyone _else's_ work."

"Well, I don't—" He stopped, looking at Guster. Guster was uncomfortable.

Henry was equally uncomfortable. Vick was looking down. Juliet sighed. Lassiter marveled.

"They know... they know they get credit in my book." Spencer tried to rally. "Look, the important people in my life know they're important and how they're important."

"Yet who is important?" She made another slow, deliberate circle around him. "You are solitary. By choice. There is no equality in the relationships you have with your friend and your father."

Spencer was foundering. "Well, ask my girlfriend. She'll tell you she's my equal."

Silviana scoffed. "If she were honest, she would say no such thing. She has a far closer and much stronger relationship with her partner than she does with you." She looked over at them for a moment and added curiously, "And more promising, too."

Whatever she said next was lost to Lassiter, because he was flooded with warmth and confusion and an awareness that everyone, for at least a second, had stared at him and Juliet, except for Juliet, who like him had stared only at Silviana.

Spencer shook his head, confused and annoyed and trying to respond to many many different attacks at one time. (At least that's how Lassiter would have been reacting.) (Dammit, that meant he was actually sympathetic to him. _Crap!_)

Henry and Vick seemed to recognize the show needed to come to an end; they both strode forward into the war zone; Henry grabbed Spencer's arm and shoved him at Guster, and Vick spoke firmly to Silviana. "We'll be leaving now. As fascinating as your analysis of Mr. Spencer is, you two can take it up on your own time. Detectives, officers—" Her manner was clear, firm and not to be disobeyed.

"Wait," Spencer said, turning at the door. "Wait. I think _you're_ a fraud, Silviana, who likes attention just as much as you say I do, which is of course completely wrong." He glanced around, saw no support, and went on. "I think you've spent the week waiting for this moment. So, _given_ how completely wrong you are about _me_, let's see if you can read _anyone_ right. At _all_. Start with him." Again, he pointed at Lassiter.

Silviana frowned. "What is your obsession with this man?"

"I've been wondering that myself," Henry muttered.

So had Lassiter, but he'd always put it down to the simple fact that Spencer was genetically predisposed to reject all authority, and if there was one thing Lassiter was sure of about himself, it was that he had authority down pat.

"I am not obsessed with Lassie," Spencer protested. "Show of hands, SBPD, if anyone—anyone at all—thinks I seem the _least_ little bit obsessed with Lassie!"

The entire contingent of SBPD employees raised their hands. Beside Lassiter, Juliet most definitely laughed, and her hand was pretty damned high up.

Lassiter grinned at Spencer. "You really thought that one would go your way?"

"Worth a shot," he mumbled. "Anyway, let's hear it, Silviana, _if_ that's even your name." To Guster, he whispered, "Is it her name?"

She did not wait for Guster's answer. "Silviana Graciela Mona Lisa Pastorino. That is the name on my birth certificate. My married name was Nesca."

"Nesca," he repeated. "Right. Coffee."

"You're thinking of Nescafe," Guster hissed.

Silviana sighed. "I no longer remember the point of this conversation, but I believe you wanted me to in some way humiliate myself or your superior."

Spencer's eyes narrowed. "He is _so_ not my superior, Mrs. Hot Beverage."

Juliet cleared her throat. Lassiter just let it ride.

"Oh, but he is. He is better-behaved, he is better-dressed, he is better-informed, and he is better able to conduct himself like an adult in mixed company, and I, Mr. Spencer," she said in a very low voice, leaning in close, "don't even _like_ him." She gave Lassiter an apologetic glance. "Take no offense. I do not like very many men. You do have remarkable eyes and I might make an exception for you, if only to cause this man to have a stroke."

Lassiter thought for a second and finally said, bemused, "Uh... no offense taken?"

He was surprised to feel Juliet touch his arm, and when he looked at her, her other hand was over her mouth, she was laughing quietly, and the look in her eyes said she was absolutely _not_ laughing at _him_. _Curiouser and curiouser_.

At last, however, Silviana seemed to have tired of Spencer. "If there is nothing else, I think we shall part ways here. You to your strange and narcissistic world, and I back to my family, for though we may be an ethnic stereotype, Mr. Spencer, we do have each other to rely on—without question."

He really didn't know what to say; his stumped-ness was obvious. Finally, he muttered, "Except for the murdering part. Come on, Gus, it's Frito pie day at Harley's." He walked out fast, Gus hurrying after him.

Lassiter glanced at his co-workers: Vick, Henry, Juliet. He wasn't sure what to think himself, and was hoping they had all forgotten Silviana's remark about his relationship with Juliet. No one seemed inclined to offer commentary—not even Lassiter, who recognized that no matter what he thought of Spencer's methods, and no matter how entertaining Silviana's attack had been, the man was still a representative of the police department and so it wouldn't be prudent to hug Silviana on his way out.

But he was smiling, just a little, as he and Juliet got into the Crown Vic and headed back to the station.

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_[What do you think? Stand-alone, or more?]_

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	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

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Juliet waited wearily while Shawn, for lack of a better word, _droned_ on about one of Evel Knievel's famous stunts, and how no one, not even Dutch The Clutch, could come close to the sheer glory of _jumping over stuff_ the way he had.

"Jumping over stuff," she repeated, completely uninterested.

"Yes, Jules. The man was amazing. He could do things with his bike which defied the laws of gravity. In some states, the things he did even defied the bylaws and amendments of gravity."

"Really." _So_ not interested.

"Yeah," he said with a sigh, "I wish_ I_ could do that."

Carlton happened to come around the corner just then to fetch an extra sugar for his coffee, and hearing Shawn's statement, drawled, "Well, that dog would _bite_ yoooou," before he went off again.

Juliet stared, amazed, and then collapsed in laughter while Shawn looked between her and Carlton in confusion. She—wiping her eyes—could see Carlton grinning at her from his desk. Ignoring Shawn, she got up and went over to him. "Carlton! You know that joke!"

"Classic," he said mildly. "Everyone should have a Grizzard joke filed away."

She was delighted. "Why do service stations lock the bathroom door but leave the cash register unlocked?"

He shot back, "Kinky sex involves the use of duck feathers. Perverted sex involves the whole duck."

Shawn was aghast. "What in the hell is going on here?"

At the same time, Juliet and Carlton both said triumphantly, "If you ain't the lead dog, the scenery never changes!"

"Oh, I get it," Shawn said knowingly. "The exhaust is screwed up in your Crown Vic."

"No, Shawn. It's Lewis Grizzard, the late Southern humorist. _If Love Were Oil, I'd Be About A Quart Low_?"

"_Shoot Low, Boys, They're Riding Shetland Ponies_," Carlton offered.

Shawn said, "I'd like a Shetland pony. Ooh! Evel Knievel could jump over a line of Shetland ponies! I mean, if he weren't dead. And if you could get enough ponies from the Shetlands. Where are the Shetlands? Is that like a shopping mall?"

Juliet felt all-too-familiar irritation enveloping her, and looked at Carlton speculatively. She couldn't help but remember Silviana Nesca's words, and something in the vast blue sea of Carlton's eyes said he knew what she was thinking. "Never mind, Shawn," she said flatly, and went back to her desk.

He followed, still puzzling. "Ducks, ponies, dogs and sex? Who was this guy anyway? Sounds like I _should_ have heard of him. You know I love ducks."

"Heard of who?" asked Henry as he breezed past.

"Lewis Grizzard," Carlton answered.

Henry stopped, and with a grin, said, "_Don't Bend Over In The Garden, Granny; You Know Them 'Taters Got Eyes_."

"What is it with you people!" Shawn protested. "And thanks so much for ruining potatoes for me now. I may not be able to eat hash browns for a week." He plopped down in Juliet's chair before she could reach it. "So how about lunch, since we're on the topic of food?"

"It's only 10:30, and get out of my chair."

"Get out of her chair," Henry said, breezing away again with a folder he'd taken off his blotter.

"Get out of her hair," Carlton echoed.

"You _change_ your hair," Shawn sniped.

"I like his hair," Juliet said icily. "Now get out of my chair."

Shawn gestured to Carlton disbelievingly. "Are you serious? He's got a... a... thing going on."

Juliet resisted the urge to thump him. "What, Cary Grant? George Clooney? Yeah, he's got a thing going on." She picked up a stapler. "I think I'll staple your head now."

Over his shoulder she caught Carlton looking at her with great surprise and a hint of a blush. Shawn distracted her by grabbing the stapler from her hand and rolling the chair away, his mouth open in shock. "You're actually comparing Lassie 'The Ears' Stickman to Cary Grant?"

"Yes, Shawn. I am. Favorably, too." She saw Carlton get up and walk away abruptly, and for some reason this made her even angrier with her boyfriend. "Look, can't you see I want to kill you right now? Can't you _sense_ it? Aren't the spirits telling you to get the hell away from me before I completely lose what little self-control I have left?"

He looked at her with some concern. "Well. There is a hint of... mild... irritation."

Juliet looked at him and for a few seconds of total internal blindness could not remember any reason she'd ever thought it would be a good idea to date him. There _must_ have been a reason. Even one. _Think, girl, think_.

"I'm going," he announced. "Seems like a good idea."

_Damn straight_.

Later, after lunch (quite pleasant, down at a beachside café in the sunshine with Carlton, whose blue eyes matched the sea, and who did _not_ offer a running commentary about how the food on his plate felt about the kitchen staff, or the proper way the chips should be held to collect the maximum amount of salsa, or whether the restaurant owners should declare a free taco night to anyone who could name twenty pineapple dishes in ten seconds), Juliet went out on her own to a place she hadn't expected to revisit in the near future... if ever.

She was admitted by a frowning housemaid who sent her to wait in the parlor.

Silviana Nesca appeared shortly thereafter, clad today in a long black dress with a silver shawl. "Detective O'Hara, how surprising. I really did not expect to see you again." She sat on the opposite end of the deep red sofa and flipped one end of her shawl over her shoulder. "At least not so soon." Her smile was too knowing.

Juliet didn't want to waste time with semantics, but she could not be impolite. "How is Isabella?"

Perfect dark eyebrows arched. "Well, yesterday she found out her husband murdered our butler to cover up his affair with the butler's daughter, whom he had impregnated, so you may assume she's not doing very well."

"That's fair," Juliet murmured. "Obviously you've guessed I'm not here on police business."

"Of course not. You've come to defend your boyfriend."

She blinked. "No. You didn't say anything about him which wasn't basically true."

Silviana leaned back, curious. "Then you are here to defend why you stay with him?"

"Not that either. Though," she added, "I do admit to being curious as to how you picked up in a few days of observation what it's taken me six years to see."

"Good Lord, you've been together that long?" She seemed shocked.

Juliet was restless. "No. We've only been a couple for six months." But, as she'd suspected, this revelation was a mistake, for Silviana began to laugh.

"You knew him five and a half years and still dated him? Detective, that's quite—"

"It's Juliet," she interrupted, and not just to avoid the insult. "This is a personal visit."

"Yes, I know. But I'm not a psychologist, Juliet, nor even a friend. Shawn Spencer made his own impression here and I'm not disposed to encourage anyone to remain in his life." She played with the fringe on her shawl, silver bracelets jingling as her graceful hand moved. "But to answer your question, I will say that your Shawn reminds me of my Dante."

"Your husband?"

"Yes. Dante was much like Shawn. Charming, intelligent, ever the wit. He sailed through life set on one mission: to enjoy it. To amuse himself. Other people existed for his entertainment only." She paused, considering. "For his _use_ only. This included their money and their belongings as well. Sound familiar?"

_Yes_, but still a bit stung by her earlier laughter, Juliet merely inquired, "And how long did you know him before you married?"

Silviana's smile was slow. "Touché. But I was much younger than you. And like you, I suppose, I never doubted—not then, and not now—that he loved me. It's just that after awhile, I thought it might be nice to be first. Not all the time. Just… half the time. Maybe even less than half. Just enough to know I meant more to him than anyone else. That I meant more to him than _he_ did." Her dark, dark gaze was direct, almost piercing.

Juliet felt pinned in place—not unlike some of the times Carlton had given her a look designed to demand an explanation or counter an argument—and Silviana's words were like little stabs. She drew a deep breath, and let it out slowly, trying to relax.

"You understand," Silviana said silkily.

_Oh, yeah_. "You left him?"

"Eventually, yes."

"Liar," Juliet said bluntly. "I talked to about six hundred of your relatives this past week and each of them had at least fifty stories about everyone else. Something like twenty of those stories were about your marriage."

Silviana sighed abruptly, both hands toying with her shawl now.

"You met in Monaco, married a week later, and a month after that he was killed in a car accident. It's very sad, and I'm sorry, but even if he was like Shawn, you certainly never had time to find out."

After a moment, Silviana looked steadily at Juliet again and asked simply, "If you are not here to discuss Shawn, then what do you want?"

Well. Hell. Now she wasn't sure she could say it.

But she didn't have to, for Silviana smiled again. "This is about your partner, Detective Lassiter."

She still wasn't sure she could say it. Starting to rise, she murmured, "I shouldn't have come."

"Sit," Silviana commanded. "I am as interested in your hesitation now as you are in the answer to the question you haven't even asked yet."

Juliet sat. _Pause_. "What made you say it? That our relationship was—"

Nope, she couldn't say it.

But the dark-eyed lady could. "Stronger and better than yours with your boyfriend? You can't seriously doubt that it is."

"I'm asking," she said levelly, "what made you think it. How you saw it, in the short time we were here."

Silviana shook her head, puzzled… amused. "How long does it take to see that people are close? You worked together very well. You obviously complement each other—his darkness, your light. He deferred to you, you deferred to him. He could go from barking at someone to speaking to you as if you were alone in the room. You kept your eyes on him, watching his mood and his demeanor, and stepped in to calm him every time he was about to snap, and yes, I am well aware of how very trying my extended family can be." She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "You… are two halves of a whole. And I see you staring at me now, my dear, your lovely blue eyes wide with what is either the shock of newfound awareness or the shock of realizing your special relationship is visible to the rest of the world… or at least the select few of us who might be paying attention—which is why it is even more ironic that your hyper-observant boyfriend is completely blind to it."

Juliet swallowed.

"I honestly had no idea you would find it so stunning. And yet," Silviana added more softly, "the only point I was trying to make yesterday was that you have no such closeness with _Shawn_." Her smile was both knowing and oddly sympathetic.

"I should go," Juliet managed, abruptly, and did get to her feet. "Thank you for your…" For what? Her time? Her observations? The fact that she'd just skewered her with truth?

Silviana said nothing to stop her; she merely watched her leave. Juliet could feel her eyes as she quickly crossed to the main hall and let herself out the door, and she thought she could even feel the woman watching her drive away.

Not that she knew where she was going.

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Lassiter looked at his watch. He was missing Juliet—no, he corrected himself, he was only wondering where she was; perfectly natural. She'd said she had an errand after lunch and would be back in under an hour, but it had been two now and even Vick had made note of her absence.

Okay, he was worried. A little.

She hadn't been quite herself lately. Even yesterday on their way back from arresting Raul, she'd surprised him with her comments about the post-wrap-up debacle.

"_That was interesting," she said after a minute or two in the car._

"_Yes. Yes, it was," he agreed noncommittally._

"_You handled it well."_

"_I did? Which part?"Because he was still hoping no one had noticed what Silviana had said about the two of them, even though _hell yeah_ everyone had noticed (except Spencer)._

"_The part where you didn't shout 'YES!' every time she scored another point off Shawn," she said dryly._

_He tried not to laugh, but when he failed, noted she was grinning. "Well," he countered, "I'm pretty sure I heard _you_ snickering a few times."_

_She became solemn. "That was wrong of me. I should have come to his defense."_

_He looked out the window, ostensibly at a pedestrian, to hide his eye-roll._

"_I saw that."_

"_No, you didn't."_

"_Okay, I felt it," she insisted, and considering how well she knew him, she probably had._

"_Look, let's just… admit I'm not strong enough to keep from saying inappropriate things here, okay?"_

"_Carlton. You are the strongest person I know."_

"_Not when it comes to resisting snarkery." Especially about Spencer._

"_You're stronger than Shawn," she said simply, and then changed the subject._

And then this morning; good Lord, had she actually said he looked like Cary Grant? He'd had to leave the bullpen before he erupted into flames from the blush overtaking him, but the only place to go for any privacy was the men's room, where the reflection in the mirrors seemed to mock him. _My big ears, my crooked nose… Cary Grant? The hell?_

Something was up with her.

Lunch—and he always liked lunch with Juliet—had been especially confusing. She'd go from smiling at him as if he were the only man in the room (which did _such_ a number on his heart rate; she had _no_ idea) to staring out at the ocean quietly (which wasn't so bad, because she was lovely and he never minded looking at her from any angle). The one thing he could be sure of was that she wasn't upset with _him_, if she was upset with anyone, and sometimes, that was all a man could hope for: knowing _he_ wasn't the target of building rage.

Still… where was she?

He was about to text her when she came in.

"Sorry," she said in a rush, smiling at him the way she had over lunch. "I should have called to say I was running late."

"It was quiet. You didn't miss anything."

"If it was a quiet afternoon at work with you, then I missed plenty," she said lightly, unexpectedly touching his arm before she went to her desk, leaving him to pick his heart up off the keyboard and stuff it back in his chest before anyone noticed it had fallen out again.

It was probably time for a long fishing weekend. Or maybe a criminology seminar. Possibly early planning for this year's Civil War reenactment. He was going to have to get his mind off her. Scratch fishing—too much thinking time. Definitely a seminar. Maybe something _extra_ annoying. His therapist had told him more than once in their few sessions that he should expand his horizons, but most of his experimentations had still been essentially solo activities, such as cooking.

What he needed now was the distraction of people, because he didn't _like_ people, and they would interfere with any peaceful moments he might have during which his treacherous heart and mind could go back to thinking about Juliet. People would definitely work. Right?

As if.

"What are you glowering about?" she asked mildly, back at his desk to pick up his empty coffee mug.

He flushed. "The usual," he answered honestly.

Juliet looked at him carefully. "Shawn was here while I was gone?"

"God, no." He stood up and claimed his mug back, and walked with her to the coffee bar. Pouring first into Juliet's own empty mug, he said, "Just humanity in general."

"Thanks," she murmured, ready with packets of sweetener for his coffee after his mug was full, too.

It struck him how smoothly things went with her. "You're welcome."

They looked at each other for a moment, and he wished she weren't quite so beautiful. That her dark blue eyes weren't so lovely. That her skin wasn't so smooth and her smile so open and natural. That he didn't want so badly to reach out and tuck that one loose tendril of hair behind her delicate ear.

"Carlton," she began, hesitantly.

"The butler's daughter was in on it!" Spencer shouted from behind them.

Who needed a crime seminar for irritation when Spencer was around?

"What are you talking about, Shawn?" Juliet asked impatiently. "And skip the dramatics."

He lowered his arms. "Just what I said. I've had a vision. Raul's baby mama was in on the murder. We have to go back to that house of hell."

Lassiter glanced at Juliet and thought her expression was a bit odd, almost uncomfortable, and wondered if she was recalling Silviana Nesca's words from yesterday. Okay, so he was recalling them too.

_But let's focus_.

"Sit down and tell us what you 'divined,'" he told Spencer. "We don't go anywhere until we have the whole story."

**. . . .**

**. . .**


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

**. . . .**

**. . .**

"I have a sense, a _psychic_ sense, that the dead butler's daughter knew what Raul was going to do, and might even have helped him," Spencer said dramatically.

They had relocated to Karen Vick's office, where she leaned back in her chair, looking skeptical. "And your proof is?"

He shook his head (also dramatically). "The spirits are fuzzy on that."

"Well, fuzzy spirits don't perform well in court, and we do have the murderer in custody. Until you have more for us to go on, I'm afraid we'll—"

"Diary!" he shouted. "I'm seeing pages from a diary!"

"Whose diary?" Juliet asked.

Lassiter could hear the impatience in her voice; why couldn't Spencer?

"The dead butler's daughter, of course!" He frowned, then grinned. "We can call her DBD."

"Or Carrie Planes, since that's her name," Lassiter suggested testily. "When did you see her diary? And why didn't you mention this yesterday during your performance?"

"Don't question the spirits," Spencer advised him.

"I'm not questioning the _spirits_. I'm questioning you."

"One and the same, Lassie, one and the same."

"Only in the sense that spirits are like hot air," Lassiter muttered, "which you're full of."

"Detective," Vick warned, but when he glanced at Juliet, she was hiding a bit of a smirk. Still, he needed to be cautious. Juliet was just as likely to turn on him for dissing her idiot boyfriend, and at least half-rightfully so.

"The point is, DBD—"

"Carrie Planes," Juliet repeated firmly.

"—has a diary, and I have _sensed_ that it contains information about the murder, and we have to go back to the house to find it."

"She doesn't live there, you know." Lassiter checked the case folder. "She lives in the cottage at the back of the property."

"Where exactly was her diary when you saw it?" Juliet's body language was interesting, Lassiter thought; almost challenging.

Spencer finally focused on her. "You know I don't understand how the spirits guide me to these things."

"Shawn, it's no secret to anyone here that you're extremely observant. Whether or not you're actually psychic is almost immaterial." Her voice was cool and matter-of-fact. "Just tell us _how_ you know what you know, so we can be sure we have a _legal_ path to follow if we need to bring her in."

Vick was staring at her, and frankly so was Lassiter. This speech was tantamount to Juliet saying… saying…

Saying _she_ _didn't believe Spencer_ _was psychic_.

Lassiter had a strong sense that the world was shifting somehow.

Spencer got up suddenly, not meeting Juliet's gaze, and put his hands up to his forehead. "I'm clearly seeing one of the nieces, the one with the spiky hair, not the one with the red skirt, but hang on, the one with the spiky hair was wearing a red dress, and the one with the red skirt had curly black hair, and the one with the pony tail was stealing cash from her mom's wallet, but it was the one with the pierced ears who knows that DBD kept a diary, because she told the red-skirt girl while the spiky hair girl was playing with the left-handed boy cousin's Nintendo and was also hiding the red-skirt girl's iPod." He lowered his hands, looking now only at Vick. "That's the girl to talk to, and she does live in the main house."

Silence.

"Out of the fifty people you just listed, _which_ girl?" Vick asked dryly.

He seemed to be trying to decipher his own words now. "Um… the one with pierced ears."

"Most of them had pierced ears," Juliet pointed out. "I talked to several while they were trading earrings."

"Well… I'll know her when I see her. Can we just go?"

"Mr. Spencer, hold up a minute. O'Hara, how many people live in that house?"

Lassiter answered, since he had the case folder. "Besides Isabella and Raul, fourteen; six of them under the age of twelve. Plus there's some house staff, as well as assorted family who visit for extended periods."

Vick rubbed her temples. "So we need to identify which of them has pierced ears and knows about Carrie's diary. Not to mention talk to Carrie herself."

"Who's Carrie again?" Spencer asked curiously.

"_Spencer_," Lassiter growled, but left it at that.

Juliet didn't answer him either. To Vick, she said, "We'll take him to identify the girl, and go from there." She didn't even look at Spencer before she left the room.

Lassiter should have been happy, but instead he was worried. He himself did look at Spencer, whose frown suggested he sensed, 'psychically' or otherwise, that something was wrong.

_About damned time, Einstein_.

In the bullpen, Juliet told Lassiter coolly, "Shawn doesn't need a ride. He can drive his bike over there." In almost the same motion, she snatched the keys from Lassiter's grasp and walked out of the station, leaving him to hurry to catch up. He_ never_ had to hurry to catch up with her, having the advantage of longer legs and a faster stride, but today she was a woman on the move.

He called back to Spencer, "Meet us over there!" and raced after his partner.

Barely making it into the passenger seat before she put the car in motion, Lassiter buckled up and stared at her with some shock. "What the hell?"

"Sorry," she said tightly, "I felt like driving."

"Without Spencer," he added for her.

"Ding. Ding. Ding." Big pauses between _dings_. Angry pauses.

"O'Hara?"

Silence.

"O'Hara," he tried again. "You've got this backwards. _I'm_ the one who's supposed to be angry at the wheel, not you."

She sighed deeply. "Sorry. I'm… I'm just…" She glanced at him, and he thought her eyes were especially stormy blue just now. "I'm coming to the end," she finally said, softly.

Lassiter was stunned, and at first had no idea how to respond. He wished fiercely he knew how to stop her looking so… tired, so resigned—so _upset_.

But he knew he could say this much: "I'll be around when you get there. If you need me."

Juliet sighed again, this time more… accepting? "Thank you, Carlton." She reached out and touched his hand briefly, then returned her focus to the drive.

_His_ focus was all over the place. What was he supposed to do? Back off? Show support? Warn Spencer? Push Spencer into making it worse? Pretend he was oblivious? What?

It sucked to be a man sometimes. Men just didn't have the same innate awareness of The Right Thing To Say that most women did, and the fact that he was in love with her made it even harder to know which line to walk.

They made it to the Pastorino mansion in record time, with Spencer not even a speck on the horizon behind them. "Good," she muttered.

He hated to remind her that they needed him to identify the correct Pastorino cousin, if said girl was even home. "You know we—"

"I know." Short. "Knowing him, he probably stopped for a smoothie." Almost-but-not-quite bitterly, she added, "Because it's such a _long_ ride over here, and it's not like we needed to hurry at his insistence or anything, 'spirits' be damned."

_Whoa_.

The engine was off. Juliet put her hands in her lap, studying the steering wheel without, he knew, _seeing_ it.

"You no longer think he's psychic?" he asked, certain that he shouldn't but unable to stop himself.

Her downcast eyes, her posture, the way she studied her hands now; the quality of her low voice when she spoke—it all told a story which belied the evasion: "I don't know what I think."

Fortunately (as much as Lassiter could ever consciously apply the word 'fortunately' to Spencer), and without a smoothie, Spencer roared up the driveway a moment later.

Juliet immediately got out of the car and headed to the house, again not looking at her boyfriend. She was already knocking on the door when they joined her. "Don't make this difficult," she did say to him, with barely a glance over her shoulder.

"What?" Spencer seemed wounded. "Why would I do _that_?"

A maid came to the door. She nearly scowled at them, and muttered what sounded to Lassiter like 'you again' to Juliet specifically, which was odd, because usually 'you again' in a negative tone was aimed at him. Or Spencer. Wait, no, that was how _he_ talked to Spencer.

"We need to speak to…" Juliet stopped, closed her eyes a moment, and turned to Spencer. "Who do we need to speak to?"

"The girl with pierced ears, a bracelet with a 'do me' charm, a tattoo of a chipmunk on her shoulder and blonde hair with a purple stripe down the left side." He looked thoughtful. "And she smells like cinnamon. If that helps."

All three of them stared at him.

"What?"

"That is Violeta," the maid said with annoyance, and allowed them to come into the house, but only as far as the foyer, while she went to find the young woman.

Silviana Nesca wandered into the foyer, concentrating on a cell phone conversation. She stopped talking when she saw them, and her great dark eyes lit up with either amusement or surprise or both—or something else entirely; Lassiter couldn't decide. She ended her call and faced them, curious.

Spencer was immediately edgy, but surprisingly he said nothing. Juliet also remained silent. Lassiter, who seldom felt the need to be polite to strangers, felt the need to be polite here. "We're waiting to speak with Violeta."

"Oh, my niece. My brother Carlo's daughter. Why do you need to speak with her?"

"We'll tell _her_ that, if you don't mind." _And even if you do._

"Tying up loose ends," Juliet said calmly. "She is over eighteen, isn't she?"

Silviana nodded, still curious. "Nineteen. But you might as well say what this is about. It's not as if you will have any real privacy in this household." As soon as she'd spoken, three of the under-twelve set ran through the foyer, and glass could be heard breaking from a distant room. "Perhaps you should at least come into the parlor."

"Or we could invite her down to the police station," Juliet countered.

Lassiter felt his eyebrows going up but he wasn't about to contradict her. Finally the girl in question sauntered down the main staircase, staring at them with undisguised annoyance.

"What do you want?"

"To have a word with you," Lassiter said before Juliet could break her arms or anything. To Silviana, he said, "I think we'll take you up on that parlor offer."

She pointed somewhat languidly to the left, following them in and effortlessly convincing the children who'd run in there to run out again without a word of protest. "Violeta, would you like me to call your father or mother?"

Violeta frowned. "No, why? I'm an adult." She unexpectedly grinned at Spencer. "Yeah. I'm _legal_, honey. Make a note."

Spencer said, "Uh. Okay."

Lassiter was disoriented. Juliet was being snarky and Spencer was being quiet? He had to take over. "Spencer here says you were talking about Carrie Planes keeping a diary."

The girl put her feet up on the footstool in front of her. "What of it?"

"Have you actually seen this diary?"

"Sure. We were buds."

"And do you know where it is now?"

Violeta scowled. "No, why would I? She's probably got it locked up somewhere. That's the _point_ of a diary, you know."

Lassiter liked children, he did. He hoped, even as years passed, that he would have some one day, but he wasn't keen on anyone over, say, fifteen, and this purple-streaked girl was one reason why. _His_ kids would not be insolent.

"We know what the point of a diary is, thanks," Juliet said with asperity. "Do _you_ know what the term accessory means? And no, sweetheart, I don't mean earrings or shoes."

_Holy crap._ Lassiter stepped in, aware that Spencer was agog and Silviana was ready to step in herself if only to keep Violeta seated. "We're just trying to verify the existence of the diary. Can you tell us what it looks like?"

"Green," she said tightly. "With a lock."

Spencer finally came forward, and Lassiter thought again that he seemed edgy—maybe Silviana's commentary yesterday had really gotten to him. "Did she ever tell you what was in it, or show you?"

"Uh, _yeah_. Isn't that what I said two minutes ago?" She looked as if she wanted to add the words, 'I don't think you're cute anymore, either.'

Silviana inquired smoothly, "Is there a reason you are not speaking to Carrie herself? She is probably in the cottage. She has been handling her father's business affairs."

And coming to terms with the fact that her father was murdered by her lover. Yeah, she was probably busy. "We'll be talking to her momentarily," Lassiter assured her. "We're just verifying Spencer's information."

She smiled slowly. "The spirits have been talking to you, I assume?"

Spencer faced her, wary. "The spirits are always talking to me."

Sort of drifting to the window, and not really even looking at him, she said gently, "Those are probably the beans you had for lunch."

Violeta burst out laughing. "Yeah, baby." Getting to her feet, she announced, "Look, I got stuff to do. You want to see the diary, talk to Carrie. I'm outta here." No one stopped her departure, not even Spencer.

What the hell was wrong with him? Why had Juliet clammed up now after being fit to kill five minutes ago?

"That must have been very helpful," Silviana said, still smiling. "I'm so glad you could stop by."

"Listen, Elvira, we're here to do a job," Spencer started, as if showing defiance _now_ would do any good.

She held up her hand. "Your job is finished. You found out who murdered Edward, you broke up Isabella's marriage—not that I am defending Raul by any means—and you put the entire family into a tailspin of drama from which we will not soon escape. Unless you have begun to think that Raul is innocent, I think your time here is finished."

Juliet found her voice. "We're going to the cottage. Shawn, come with me right now." She started to leave, and Spencer, torn between the rebuttal he hadn't thought of and the safety of an armed police detective, followed after a few seconds.

Lassiter was nearly to the hall when Silviana called his name, and the front door closing behind Juliet and Spencer made him feel a little like a coffin lid was closing.

He turned, skin prickling. "Yes?"

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Juliet stalked around the mansion, following the brick path leading to the vast back yard and gardens. The cottage, wherein the butler's family lived, was on the east edge, surrounded by flowers, an altogether peaceful and beautiful place to grieve the loss of a loved one.

But she stopped, mid-yard, and faced Shawn, who was giving her an I-know-you're-mad-but-I-have-no-idea-why-and-I-can't-ask-because-then-you-might-be-mad-that-I-don't-know look.

"Shawn," she said as calmly as she could. "I need you to listen to me."

"I'm listening, Jules. All ears." He cupped his ears to show her.

"This young woman's father has been murdered by her married lover, whose child she's carrying. If you're wrong about her involvement, what we're about to do is the latest of a string of injuries to someone under a huge amount of stress, and I really don't want to be part of that even if it is my job. So if you're not 100% sure she's involved, we're not taking another step."

He blinked. "I promise, the spirits are 100% sure, and—"

"Shawn." She knew her voice was sharp. "Not the spirits. You. Are _you_ 100% sure?"

"Jules, have I _ever_ let you down?"

She let a few calming seconds pass before she spoke. "On police work? Not usually, but you do waste a lot of time and make us look like idiots, and I'm not in the mood for that today."

He let his hands drop to his sides. "Okay, I give. You've been icing me out all day. What's up?"

Juliet was surprised. She really thought he would never have the courage to ask her, but then on the other hand, he had picked his moment well: moments from either talking to a suspect or being joined by Carlton. In truth, she wished Carlton were here already. "We can meet tonight, if you can get away."

Shawn laughed. "Get away from what?"

"Whatever TV marathon you're planning to watch with Gus," she said shortly. "I'll call you later. We need to talk."

"Uh-oh. Should I be worried?"

Juliet gazed at him; at his apparently (but never really) guileless face, his bright hazel eyes, his cautious smile. "Yes, Shawn. You should."

**. . . .**

**. . .**


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR **(happy birthday, Alysheba!)

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Silviana Nesca was quite a striking woman. He'd looked up her age and learned she was 56, but there was a timeless air about her: smooth skin, dark eyes which drew attention from any wrinkles which might dare to appear, and the clothing she wore—from whether the colors were dark or vibrant to the way they draped her form so well—completed the picture. A picture which said _yes, look at me… I'm mysterious_.

It was a little unnerving how all the household sounds seemed to have stopped, creating the impression that he was completely alone with this perceptive woman, who asked him _almost_ casually, "How long have you been partners with Detective O'Hara?"

Brief consideration told him this was a safe query. "Just over six years. Why?"

She sat (and even this action was elegant) on the end of the sofa, seemingly fascinated. "Which is also as long as you've known Shawn Spencer?"

Lassiter felt his own frown. "Yes. Again, why?"

"I'm merely curious, Detective. Particularly about how many more years will pass before you tell your partner how you feel about her."

Such quiet words. After the first dozen of Lassiter's internal steel doors slammed shut, he said with relative calm, "Excuse me. I have work to do," and turned to leave.

"Detective," she chided him before he'd gotten very far. "Please. I'm not trying to embarrass you."

"No?" he asked as icily as he could manage while fighting off a blush. Certainly a lower Fahrenheit temperature in his tone had convinced many a suspect to confess.

"No. I am only interested in why people do not go after things they want." Her smile wasn't malicious and she certainly didn't seem to be withering under his stare.

"What makes you think I want my… what you think I want?"

Silviana's smile became knowing now. He hated a _knowing_ smile. He hated that other people sometimes figured things out about him he didn't want figured out. "I believe I demonstrated my powers of observation yesterday, didn't I?"

"And what, exactly, did you observe?" He _sounded_ annoyed, at least to his own ears, but he wasn't leaving either; why was that?

"A special closeness. An attraction. I…" She held up her hand when he started to protest. "An attraction you each did not detect in the other, because most of it was visible only when one of you was looking in a different direction. In fact, for the first few days you were disrupting our household, I assumed you two were a discreet couple." Dryly, she added, "Imagine my surprise to learn she was with Spencer instead. I admit I questioned her intelligence for a period."

Lassiter wasn't good at handling either compliments or criticism of his partner, and to have both thrust upon him simultaneously was no good at all. "Listen here," he started.

But again she held up her hand. "The question, dear blue-eyed man, is what are you going to do about it?"

He was nonplussed. "What do you mean? There's nothing I can do about—" _Crap, he had just admitted she was right_. "What do you mean?" he repeated stiffly. "Even _if_ your guess were accurate, and even though Spencer's an ass, _he's_ still her boyfriend." _Not me. Never me_.

Silviana laughed. "Oh, Detective, that's only temporary."

Lassiter stared at her. Who was this woman, and why were her words so compelling? Was he just ready for some hope? Had Juliet's odd mood of late opened his mind to possibilities which didn't really—except late at night—exist?

"Look," he said, choosing the _pretend-this-isn't-happening_ option for confusing and uncomfortable interpersonal interaction, "I have work to do, and I'm sure you can find some other person to target for humiliation."

That brought her up off the sofa before he'd even taken one step toward the hall. "Detective Lassiter, I am only cruel to men I am _involved_ with. And no matter how stunning your blue, blue eyes, there is no point in trying to seduce a man whose heart so clearly belongs to another woman. So I assure you, again, it is not my wish to torment you. Rather, I'd like to see you happy."

_Happy. Ha_. "You don't even know me. Why the hell would you care whether I'm happy?"

This time her laughter was almost silvery. She came closer and studied him very curiously. "I find it is best for people to be happy. Happy people treat each other better, for one thing, and strangers along with them. Isn't happiness an excellent goal?"

Lassiter said slowly, "Goals can't always be achieved. Now if you'll excuse me—"

"Wait. About Carrie." Silviana moved to stand between him and the vast front door. "I've known her since she was a child. She's been part of this household along with the other children. Make no mistake; if you think you'll find anything in her diary to show she had any knowledge of Raul planning to kill her father, you're wrong."

Finally an area he was familiar with. "And you know this how? Have you seen the diary yourself?"

Silviana sighed. "No, of course not. But I _know_ her. She and her father were very close. Raul targeted her because of her beauty and her romantic nature; it's easy to see this now. You may find that she eventually became suspicious of his motivations and behavior, but the only thing I'm more certain of than your partner being in love with you is that Carrie Planes had nothing to do with the murder of her father."

He opened his mouth. He closed his mouth. "Please don't. Don't keep _saying_ that."

She smiled. "Just be careful with the girl, Detective. Good day." In an instant, she was gone from the hall.

**. . . . **

**. . .**

Juliet was about to give up on Carlton ever coming out of the damned house (though it had only been about twenty seconds since she'd told Shawn to worry) when he finally appeared around the corner and headed at them.

He looked… hunted, she thought, his blue eyes wide, and she wondered what in the hell Silviana had said to make him look that way. If it had been anything like their conversation this morning, she could imagine—wait. Wait.

_Wait_.

She stared at Carlton and he stared at her, and Shawn might as well not have been there. She could not decipher Carlton's expression but he seemed to be searching hers just as intently.

Could Silviana have done the same number on him… no, that wasn't fair. Juliet had _sought_ her opinion. She had _asked_ for the analysis, as it were. Carlton wouldn't have done that. Silviana would have had to blindside him.

And that's how he looked—blindsided.

It took Shawn saying, "Hey! Guys!" to get her to focus again. "What the hell?" he demanded. "I'm the one with attention issues. Are we doing this or not?"

Carlton brushed past him without a word and strode the rest of the way to the cottage. Despite his manner, he knocked fairly gently, and they'd caught up by the time Carrie Planes opened the door.

Young, no more than twenty, and exhausted from the shock and grief of the past week, she didn't even speak; she merely stood aside and let them enter.

"What is it?" she asked when they were all in the main room, where boxes were in various stages of being put together and packed.

"You're leaving?" Juliet looked around, not sure whether this was flight from the past or flight from the law.

Carrie brushed curls off her forehead. "They said I could stay on but why would I? It's not like anyone in the main house wants me to stick around with Raul's baby."

Shawn picked up a framed picture of Carrie with her father. "What would your father want?"

She cast him a dark glance. "He'd want me to be smarter than I was. And he wouldn't want me to be pregnant with a married guy's baby, whether or not that married guy killed him."

"About that," Carlton began, surprisingly gently. "It's difficult to ask you this, but do you keep a diary?"

Carrie stared at him, already horrified. "Yes, but… you can't see that. It's mine."

"Carrie, it could be important. And we _can_ compel you to turn it over." Juliet hated to be the one to say those words.

Her eyes filled with tears. "No. No, that's not right. Those are _my_ feelings, _my_ experiences. They're _private_."

"Nothing's really private," Shawn murmured, and Juliet was relieved he was choosing this moment to be low-key.

"Let me look at it," Juliet tried again, moving closer to her. "If it's not useful, I'll give it right back."

"O'Hara," Carlton said warningly, because of course she shouldn't be making promises like that.

Carrie was torn. "How do I know you… how can I…"

"I'll sit right here. Or in your room, while you watch me look at it. They don't have to be there." She shot an apologetic look at the men; Shawn seemed blank but Carlton, after a moment, nodded. "In fact, they'll go outside." She put her hand out to touch Carrie's arm. "Come on. Show me."

She already knew, just from the girl's demeanor, that the diary would hold no evidence of her involvement in her father's death, but she had to follow it through.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Lassiter kept his distance from Spencer in the yard, pacing away from him along the flowery paths. He couldn't deal with him while processing the look in Juliet's eyes when he first came out of the main house, so soon after Silviana's proclamations. He couldn't deal with this dawning awareness that Juliet might… actually… impossibly… care for him. And certainly not with her boyfriend looming.

Assuming Silviana wasn't insane.

She _was_ right about Carrie, however. Lassiter trusted his gut, and though he was generally glad to assume guilt before he could prove it, he knew this girl had been played by Raul, and was in no way connected to her father's murder. Raul had acted on his own.

He turned absently on the path, and saw Spencer seated on a stone bench near a birdbath. He looked… huh. He looked pensive. He even looked a bit worried. But in the next second, as if sensing Lassiter's attention, he pasted on a cheesy smile and got up again.

And then, bless her, Juliet left Carrie's cottage and approached. She shook her head slightly. "Let's go up front."

They followed her rapid steps back around the main house to the driveway, where she stopped, arms folded, some of her tension fading. "Nothing. The diary shows she knew Raul was too controlling. He wanted her to convince her father to move into the main house so he would have more privacy with her in the cottage. He was promising to tell Isabella but she didn't believe him. The day of the murder, after Edward's body was found, the pages of the diary are…" she hesitated. "They'd been wet. The ink was smeared. Her tears…" she trailed off, and turned away, taking a breath. "She's innocent."

Spencer asked quietly, "Any chance… don't hate me… but any chance it was a _fake_ diary?"

Lassiter wanted to put one arm around Juliet while using the other to throttle Spencer. "Do you not trust O'Hara's judgment?" he asked tightly.

"No… I mean, yes of course I do. But it's a diary. Come on. Diaries are always key to a murder investigation. You know that."

_You're an idiot_ almost slipped out, but he bit it back. "Well, then this one is too, Spencer. It shows her innocence. Are we done here?"

"_I_ am," Juliet said, and got into the Crown Vic. Lassiter followed, and though she didn't drive quite as fast leaving as she had on the way over, she made pretty good time, and thank God Spencer didn't follow.

At almost the last second, she turned into a Starbucks' drive-thru not far from the station. "I hope you want caffeine as much as I do," was her only comment.

Lassiter was always up for good coffee. "You okay?"

"No." They were behind two other cars and she turned to him, her lovely face earnest and yet unsettled. "Carlton."

"O'Hara?"

"I… really need to do this, okay? But I don't want to talk about it after and I hope you won't freak out on me."

Alarm bells, and yet he couldn't take his eyes off her. "What is it?"

She leaned across swiftly and kissed him.

_Oh._

She went on kissing him until he ceased being too stunned to respond.

_Oh, God, her mouth was incredible. _

He had barely begun to taste the perfect curve of her lips properly when the car in front of them moved, and yet it was a few more seconds—enough time for the guy in the car behind them to honk his horn—before she pulled back, out of breath and smiling. A smile that reached and lit her dark blue eyes and did things to him almost as decadent as the kiss itself.

"Get a room! I need coffee!" the guy behind them yelled.

Lassiter rubbed his face while Juliet moved up and placed their coffee orders in a relatively untroubled tone, but he didn't know how she did it.

And he honored her request not to talk about it… not that he had a damn clue what to say beyond _"May I have another?"_

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Juliet sat on the steps outside her place, restless. She was waiting for Shawn, who was late. Late for a conversation she couldn't put off anymore.

The evening air was cool, the sun long since gone, and the complex was quiet tonight. She was glad. She almost didn't even want to invite him inside, although having this conversation on the steps really wasn't a good idea.

Finally, ten minutes late, he arrived.

Rather, the Blueberry arrived. She watched in astonishment as Shawn exited the passenger seat and Gus got out to lean against the door.

Shawn bounded up the stairs. "Hey, babe." He bent to kiss her but she withdrew. "What is it?"

"You brought Gus?"

"Well, I—"

"You knew I wanted to talk to you and you knew it was going to be a serious conversation and _you brought Gus_?"

"But you like Gus," he said as if that were an appropriate response. "We're going for the late showing of—"

"Shawn!" She stood up, once again stunned by his choices. "You cannot be serious."

"Jules, you said you wanted to talk. You didn't say you wanted to talk _all night_. Let's get it started and we can wrap it up faster."

"Wrap it up?"_ Oh, for the love of God._

Instead of slapping him silly, she went down the stairs to Gus, who looked nervous at her approach. "Gus, did Shawn tell you why he needed to come over here?"

"He, uh, said you wanted to tell him something real quick."

Juliet stared at Gus until he appeared to be about to flee. "Go away, Gus. Drive off. Don't come back until he calls you. You understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said quickly and dove back into the Echo.

"Gus!" protested Shawn, as if he could be heard over the squealing tires.

Juliet said shortly, "Come upstairs, now."

He followed her up, his reluctance palpable, and she closed the door firmly once he was inside.

"Sit," she commanded, and he took the rocking chair, picking up an overstuffed pillow to hold against his chest.

"Jules, you're scaring me." Plaintive.

But was it real? Who could tell with Shawn? _Who could ever freaking tell?_

Juliet sighed deeply, calming herself, and perched on the end of the coffee table. "Shawn. You showing up here with Gus is just one more reason I have to do this."

He met her gaze, but his was starting to look more than uneasy.

"I care about you. You know I do. And I… actually I sort of envy you."

He blinked. "You do?"

"You… you're living the life you _want_ to live. No boundaries, no constraints. You have nearly perfect freedom to behave as you please, when you please, and you have the most amazing safety net of Gus and your father and your brain to get you through the tricky spots. Most people don't have anything like that kind of freedom."

Shawn frowned. "No, but… okay, yeah, my life is pretty great. But Jules… you left out _your_ name."

Juliet had to look away for a second, fighting back the wave of pain. "Yeah, I did. Because while I envy you your freedoms, I'm one of those strange folk who doesn't _want_ a life like that. I like structure. I like order. I like acceptable, predictable behavior. I like adults to act like adults most of the time, and I need fun to be an _escape_ from reality, not reality itself."

"Jules, we wouldn't be together if you didn't like fun as much as I do," he tried.

"We wouldn't be together if you hadn't worn me down over many years of dealing with the dark side of my job. And you _are_ charming, Shawn, and funny, and you can be so sweet, and I care so much. You should never doubt that."

Silence, until the oscillating fan across the room clicked as it moved.

"But." His tone was flat and his eyes were too.

"But it seems like I spend most of our time together angry and frustrated. And when we're apart, I spend too much time being _relieved_ that we're apart." She swallowed. "That's bad."

"Yeah. Yeah, it is." He set the pillow down and leaned forward. "Listen, you know how important you are to me. You just have to give me a chance to do better."

_This was the hard part._

She whispered, "How can you do better, Shawn? How can you be someone you're not?"

Shawn reached for her hands. "For you I would try. Jules, I would _try_."

The tears escaped her then, as she shook her head. "I know. I know you would. But I don't want you to. I don't want to be with someone who has to _try_ to change his basic nature just for me." She brushed a tear off her cheek. "I love that you would want to, but I can't—I _won't_ ask, and I won't _let_ you."

He gripped her hands tighter. "Jules, please."

Juliet could see his pain was real—no hiding now—and so was hers. "We're back to being friends, if you want that. But it's over, Shawn. I can't do it anymore."

She couldn't.

And even as she wept, she was glad it was the last time she would have to weep over him.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Tapping on Chief Vick's door in the morning, Juliet took a second to compose herself.

"Detective?"

"Two minutes?" When she got the affirmative nod, Juliet came in and closed the door behind her, glad most of the blinds were already down.

Vick looked at her appraisingly. "What's going on? You look exhausted."

"I'll be okay," she said briefly. "There's two things I need to tell you, Chief. The first is that last night I ended my personal relationship with Shawn Spencer."

"Oh," Vick said, surprised. "I'm… sorry?"

She went on steadily, "I'd like to apologize for any shadows that relationship might have cast on the department, or for any time you might have doubted my judgment because of it. And while as you know it's impossible to predict Shawn's behavior on a good day, let alone in the weeks and months to come, you have my assurance that I will conduct myself professionally any time we call upon Psych's services."

Vick let out a breath. "Understood. Thank you for telling me. I… I can't even _begin_ to imagine what the second thing is."

Juliet drew herself up against her own disbelief that she was going to say this. "The second thing is that I now intend to pursue a personal relationship with Carlton."

Vick's mouth dropped open.

"Again, you can be assured that I will conduct myself professionally at work, and it goes without saying that I respect any administrative decisions you have to make about such a relationship." She put her hand on the doorknob. "I just thought, in the interest of disclosure, that I should tell you my plans."

"I see," Vick managed, somewhat strangled.

"And now, I suppose, I need to tell _Carlton_ my plans."

**. . . .**

**. . . **


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE**

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Four weeks, three days and five hours had passed since she'd kissed him.

Not that Lassiter was counting.

Not that he was having any trouble sleeping or being around her without looking lovesick.

Not that she was ever going to kiss him again.

Damn Silviana Nesca for making him think crazy things.

"_Get a room!_" the man had yelled. He should have specified "_in the loony bin!_"

But Lassiter left Juliet alone. He worked with her, lunched with her, coffee-ed with her; he did everything with her that they ever did, and she was almost her sunny self, so far as he could tell.

In less lucid moments he thought maybe she stood a little closer to him now when they were talking, or smiled a little more when they were alone, or was gentler with him when a case made him want to start shooting at suspects just to see who'd confess first. But lucidity always returned, suckmaster of the sucking briny deep that it was.

He could shake this, he told himself. He'd been alone a long time—and really, even during most of his marriage to Victoria, he'd been alone—and he was used to it (in the way you can get used to heartburn or an ingrown toenail), and in time Juliet's unexpected and devastatingly fantastic kiss would become something he'd only imagined. Which also sucked.

As depressing as that was, there was one detail which nagged at him… Spencer didn't seem to be coming around. On two of the cases Psych worked, Gus came to the station alone to pick up copies of casefiles, had awkward brief conversations with Juliet, and left quickly. He and Spencer took to visiting crime scenes and suspects without police accompaniment, at least one of the 'big reveals' had been done via email, and it wasn't until last week that Spencer himself finally appeared at the station, going directly into Vick's office with Henry and otherwise avoiding the bullpen completely apart from a brief wave to Juliet.

Henry wasn't saying anything about it; he wasn't saying anything about his son at all.

Lassiter was going to have to ask, and it would have to be before the wondering drove him to blurt out the question in a way which would cause Juliet to pistol-whip him.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

The seaside café was only half-full; it was past the usual lunch hour and Juliet was glad for the peace. The vast blue water—blue like Carlton's eyes—was soothing, and she loved the way the salt breeze played across her skin.

"How are you?"

She looked at him and smiled. "I'm pretty good, Carlton. What about you?" It was odd for him to ask, but the asking meant he wanted to know. Carlton didn't waste much time on things he didn't care about, and small-talk was high on the list.

He hesitated, shifting his iced tea glass slightly. "I haven't seen Spencer at the station much lately."

_Finally_. "It's been kind of nice, hasn't it?"

His eyebrows went up. "Yes, actually, but…"

She gave him a moment, and realized he was at a loss. "The first few years I was here, I thought his visits were little bright spots in the day, pleasant distractions from the work we do. But then," and she chose her words carefully because this wasn't about lambasting Shawn, "I came to see those visits as disruptive. _Un_pleasant distractions while he grandstanded and stole food and went out of his way to insult you. And honestly, I don't miss them."

Carlton's dark eyebrows were back up, and his frown line was firmly in place. How she wanted to smooth it, but this couldn't be rushed.

After a bit, he asked, very slowly as if something might shatter otherwise, "Is there a particular reason for his absence?"

_Now. Now_, she thought. "Most likely it's because I broke up with him about a month ago."

Carlton's eyes widened for a moment, but then his infernally-well-honed instinct to hide kicked back in. "What happened—I mean, no. Never mind. It's not my—"

Juliet held up one hand to stop him, and then reached over and touched his wrist lightly, just for a moment. "Don't say it's not your business. It kind of is. And that's not why I didn't tell you sooner."

He was uncertain. It was in his eyes again. One day she would have to tell him just how much those ocean-blue depths revealed… or maybe she would keep that to herself.

"I don't understand," he finally said.

"I… first, I wanted to get used to the idea of being single again. As it happens," she said wryly, "that only took a few days, because in the six months we dated, we really didn't spend as much time on our own as you'd think. If it wasn't my crazy hours, it was him being joined at the hip to Gus. You wouldn't believe how many 'date nights' turned out to be a trio."

"Idiot," he muttered, and then looked as if he regretted it. "Sorry."

Juliet grinned. He had no idea how appealing he was when he thought someone had done her wrong. "Anyway, I broke up with him for a couple of reasons. One was, well, exactly what you think: it was a mistake. Maybe if we'd spent more time together it would have been over sooner; who knows?"

The way he looked down at his napkin suggested _he_ knew, and she repressed a smile.

"The other reason I had to break it off," and here she had to tread so very damned carefully, because Carlton was skittish on a _good_ day, "is that before Shawn, and even during Shawn, especially the last few months, there was always… you. Underlying everything. You were—you _are_—the fabric of my life, Carlton."

Watching him, trying to decipher the semi-stunned, semi-hopeful look in those damnably blue eyes, she added in a whisper, "Shawn was just… a coat I tried on for awhile. A coat I never really needed, because I already had you."

She let that sink in, while gulls soared overhead and the waves sparkled, and at last he found his voice. His uncertain voice.

"O'Hara," he started. "Juliet." His hands came across the table, and she clasped them, interlinking her fingers with his, feeling them shaking a little.

She smiled tremulously. "I never mind you calling me O'Hara. You're the only one who makes it sound like an endearment."

"It always was," he said huskily, and she broke.

Getting up and crossing to where he sat, she put one hand on the back of his neck, slipping up into his soft hair while she kissed him, feeling his hand come up to cup her face as his warm and wonderful mouth searched hers. It was a perfect second kiss, and she remembered every moment of the first one.

Reluctantly drawing back, she murmured, "I'd sit in your lap but then we'd never be served lunch."

"I don't want lunch," he said, but let her return to her seat; still, he reclaimed her hands and held on tight. "You're sure about this? You've had a lot of years working around all my flaws."

Juliet laughed. "Oh, Carlton. The fact that you know you have flaws—and how I've watched you tackle them—is amazing to me. You've grown since I've known you. More importantly, you've _wanted_ to. You did it for yourself, for your own future. That's incredible."

His grip on her hands tightened. "Juliet. I… I'm dreaming, aren't I? I've been shot in the head and I'm—"

"Stop," she laughed. "Carlton, you're wide awake and so am I. One or both of us might be about to pass out but we're really here and we're really admitting to these feelings. At least I am. I don't know about you."

Carlton shook his head. "Yes, you do. You know more about me than anyone else alive, or dead for that matter, so you know I… you _know_."

"Maybe you'll tell me more after lunch," she suggested. "When we ask Vick for the afternoon off because we've worked so hard on this case."

"This lunch just turned into takeout," he said, quite decisively, and got up to find the waiter.

Juliet laughed quietly, her cheeks hot, her heart racing, and before he returned to the table, she'd already called the station to report that she and her partner were done for the day.

Done with _police work_, at any rate.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Lassiter drove to his place, because that was closer, but once he'd closed the door and stood looking at her, at Juliet, at the beautiful sunny soul who had just confessed—against all logic—that she cared about _him_, he lost his nerve.

Not his desire, but his nerve.

Juliet put the to-go boxes on the table by the door and stepped closer. "Carlton." She touched his chest. "Don't doubt this."

He swallowed. "You know what they say about things that seem too good to be true."

She shook her head and stood so close he could smell her lovely hair—a touch of the salt from the ocean breeze, a touch of lilac—and said, "I'm _not_ too good to be true. I'm a regular woman who sees you for the diamond you are."

Lassiter gave it up then. There was no point in hiding anything from her. He'd never been able to before (short of shutting down completely) and he wouldn't start now.

He put his hands to her face and kissed her slowly, his heart keeping rapid time with the fast beat he could feel at her smooth throat. There was no hurry, but his hunger for her said otherwise.

Her lips curved into a smile of joy—he felt that it was; it matched his—and she whispered, "Bedroom now, please."

Later he couldn't remember getting there, not with his feet anyway, but standing by his bed, letting her slowly slide his jacket and holster off, letting her unbutton his shirt to expose his chest, letting her warm fingers undo his belt and unzip his pants, letting her do _whatever the hell she wanted_ because he was so in love and this was crazy good… every second was burned into his memory.

He undressed her the same way, their clothes making an untidy heap on the floor, their weapons an odd bit of décor for his bedside table, and he caressed her smooth skin, seeing his fingers trembling as he touched her breasts, seeing that his fingertips brushing her nipples made them harden and made her breathe faster. Just like he was.

"Carlton," she said, pleading, and he covered her mouth with his, wrapping himself around her.

It felt like an exchange of souls in a way, and when he could talk again he would tell her he was hers forever. But first he would claim her in the oldest way a man could claim a woman who already owned him heart and soul.

On the bed at last, limbs tangled and tongues met and bodies ground together and Lassiter was blind and deaf to the outside world. There was only Juliet, only her, only _ever_ her.

With his hands in her hair, their blue gazes locked together, and as he was enveloped by the heat and want of her body, he sighed out his love, in so many words.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Juliet lay on her side, stroking Carlton's face.

He captured her hand and kissed her palm. He looked relaxed, happy in a way she'd never seen, and his grin was a bit cheeky. The light in his blue eyes was one of love, and that he'd said the word itself was a treasure. "So beautiful," he murmured.

"So are you," she murmured back. "I love you, Carlton."

"I don't see why, but I'm delighted you do." He kissed her deeply before she could protest, but she didn't mind; his tongue was delicious and insistent and she could kiss him all day, really.

After a bit, when she'd completely forgotten to chastise him, he asked, "How long were you going to wait to tell me? If I hadn't asked about Spencer?"

She smiled, and drew a corresponding smile on his bare chest with her finger. "It's funny. I told Vick, the morning after it ended, that I was planning to go after you, and I was, but—"

"What? You told Vick _what_?"

"Well, I thought she should know." She gave him an innocent look. "Keep things aboveboard, right?"

He closed his eyes, half-laughing, half-chagrined. "That explains why she kept asking me how things were going. Every damned day. I thought she thought I was cracking up or something."

Juliet smirked. "Sorry about that. Anyway, my intention was to move on you pretty fast but then I realized you'd never trust it if you thought I was on the rebound. And I wanted to see how Shawn was going to act around me." She felt a twinge. "So far he's going for avoidance, but maybe that's okay. Certainly he and Gus have been getting cases solved without excess hoopla."

"Small blessings," he agreed. "So if I hadn't asked about him today?"

"I was working out a plan in my mind. I was trying to decide between inviting you to dinner and offering myself for dessert, or showing up at your place dressed only in a pizza box."

Carlton laughed and caught her up close. "In other words," he growled against her throat, "you didn't have all the answers."

"The only answer I had was you." She undulated against him silkily. "Plan B would have been calling in Silviana Nesca."

He froze, and pulled back enough to stare at her. "Holy crap, what did she say to _you_ last month?"

"That's what _I _wanted to know after you talked to her alone the day we were there about Carrie's diary."

"My God," he breathed, "that woman was like a mind reader. We should hire her, not Psych."

Juliet laughed. "I wanted to kill her the morning she 'read' me. I felt so completely exposed. But now I'm damned glad about it, because once I saw your face and the way you looked at me I knew she was right. I knew you did have feelings for me and that it was past time for me to end it with Shawn."

"Feelings," he repeated. "Such an inadequate word."

"All words are inadequate," she agreed. "Even 'I love you' doesn't really say it all."

"But it's close." He kissed her slowly, and she felt the love wash over her. "It's damned close."

"Yeah…." She sighed with delicious contentment and wriggled even closer to him, loving how his warm lean body fit to hers. "What are you going to tell Vick the next time she asks how it's going?"

Carlton's smile made her feel like jello. "I'm going to tell her I've seen you naked, so things are going pretty well."

"Carlton!" she protested, laughing, and not resisting when he pulled her to lie on top of him. "I really don't think you should say that."

"Probably not. How about if I tell her you've seen _me_ naked, so things are—" He shut up when she kissed him hard. "Screw it," he said breathlessly, "I'll figure it out when she asks me."

"We could have Silviana pay her a visit." That set them both to laughing, until lust took over, which Juliet had a feeling would be happening a lot in the future… which was very much okay.

He did ask later, in a low and wondering tone, "Do you really think I look like Cary Grant?"

Juliet smiled, sliding her hands into his hair. "I do. Did you know he said he thought making love is the best form of exercise?"

"I hear that," he murmured, "and by morning I'll be in the best shape of my life."

"Oh _good_," she breathed.

And oh, it _was_.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

At the weekend, they drove over to the Pastorino mansion and parked in the street outside. Lassiter had somehow fit himself into Juliet's Beetle, making her laugh as he put the seat back as far as it could go. "We _can_ take your car," she'd insisted, but he told her adapting to new things was something he was working on, and if that included being driven around in a tiny bug-shaped vehicle with the woman he loved, so be it.

Juliet called the main house and asked for Silviana. He extricated himself from the car again, not minding either the banged knee or the way she couldn't help but laugh that he was even trying, and they leaned side by side against the pale green motorized insect.

Silviana came out the front door and crossed the lawn toward the driveway. Today she was clad in greens and blues which drifted and swirled around her and made her eyes seem even darker, especially in the sunshine. She smiled at the sight of them. "I see your situation has changed. Congratulations."

Lassiter resisted the urge to ask her how the hell she could tell anything after two seconds. Really, the woman ran circles around Spencer.

Juliet slipped her soft hand into his. "Thank you for… pushing us."

Silviana laughed. "You're very welcome. I told Detective Lassiter I prefer people to be happy, and look at you now. What became of Mr. Spencer?"

"He's finding his way back," Juliet said quietly. "I think he'll be all right."

"Of course he will. Not to be dismissive, or clichéd, but a man like that always lands on his feet."

Thinking she was right, and hoping for Juliet's sake she _was_, Lassiter asked, "How's Carrie?"

She seemed regretful. "She moved out of the cottage, into an apartment closer to campus. I see her at least once a week. It's a shame Raul's actions and her hopeless romanticism led to all this. But at least you two provide a bright spot—a happy ending amid the gloom."

"I don't think anyone in your house cares whether Juliet and I are together or not," he said dryly. "We're the enemy."

"Actually, it was Mr. Spencer who garnered the most animosity. He was very good, but what he uncovered was terrible and it's always the messenger who pays the price. I myself," she admitted, "took a dislike to him based on his observations, but that was as much pride as anything else. I still can't believe _I_ never detected anything of Raul's activities. For Spencer to waltz in and instantly see it all seemed like a personal insult."

Lassiter had felt that way many times over the years. "You were too close," he reminded her.

"Like Shawn was to me," Juliet murmured. "He couldn't see… _me_. Not when I was unhappy, anyway." Then she looked at him with something like wonder. "But _you_ could."

He squeezed her hand, and she gave him a slow and amazed smile. His breath caught, and for a second he forgot they weren't alone.

Silviana beamed at them. "Thank you for coming to see me. I hope you'll invite me to your wedding."

"Consider it done," Lassiter said immediately, and Juliet blushed furiously, gripping his hand hard.

"Excellent. Now go love," Silviana said with finality. "Trust me, the world _will_ wait a while."

He hoped it would wait forever.

Judging by the light in his Juliet's blue eyes, she was hoping for exactly the same thing.

**. . . . .**

**. . . .**

**. . .**

**. .**

_The end … of another beginning._


End file.
